Snape and Hermione Flash Fiction
by Harmony Bites
Summary: These are five short works of Snape/Hermione flash fiction of around 500 words, almost all once posted to the grangersnape100 LiveJounal Community.
1. Un-Natural

Written for the grangersnape100 LiveJournal community and posted on April 16, 2007. Challenge: Hate is so natural to me.

**Un-Natural**

Hate is so natural to me, imbibed with my mother’s milk soured already by her unhappy marriage. I can't recall a smile from her that didn't tremble, as if any soft emotion would bring down Tobias' wrath. I was an Acceptable hater before Hogwarts. The Marauders created a hate in me that Exceeded Expectations and becoming a Death Eater made me an Outstanding hater. The hardest part of Occlumency for me was banking that emotion down, burying it in ash that Voldemort couldn't read. Albus perversely found hope in my hate because it burned so. Evil, he said, is cold.

So understand, hating you at first sight was natural to me. You were, after all, a Gryffindor, a Muggle-born and as such a safe object for my spleen. After seeing the uncanny resemblance Potter had to his father, I'd begun casting in my mind for the other parts. Ronald Weasley did nicely as Black. I saw the same kind of malice in Weasley's eyes as I limped past him your first year sporting injuries inflicted from my attempts to protect you all. Longbottom I placed as Pettigrew from the first exploding cauldron. And then you became part of the trio.

That seeming diffidence to authority, that unGryffindor thirst for learning. Oh, yes, a different kind of monthly affliction, perhaps, but I slotted you right in as Lupin. No, I know it doesn't all fit now. Potter is not a glory hound. Weasley no wealthy aristocrat. Longbottom no weak traitor. And you? Lupin would have never made the choice you did, to defend me even though it meant losing your friends. I wonder sometimes if I'm only a substitute for them, if you've placed your trust, even love and passion in me because it had no other place it could go.

So, now I'm going to force myself to do the un-natural. To go to Potter and Weasley and make peace, or at least allow them to vent their rage until it burns out. Maybe then they can forgive you. If I can do this, if I can let go of hate, maybe I won't be the deeply horrible man my father was. Maybe I could keep you. I hope that Albus is right that I can sustain love as strongly as hate. The only thing left after doing the unforgivable that would truly damn me forever is to hurt you.


	2. Mirror of Discord

**A/N** I wrote a version this as a small birthday giftie for **snarkywench_64** in 2006, who had written me a lovely SSHG ficlet, **The Power of Touch** for my birthday that year.

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**Mirror of Discord**

Ron sat on the stairs leading down to the Great Hall. He shut his eyes tightly, fisting his hands at his sides. "Idiot ... idiot." He started punching himself in his thigh, but the pain couldn't keep him from playing the image he'd conjured up over and over. Hermione had always been too good with words. She was like _him_ that way. Her description of her body entwined with ... with ... Ron felt like the picture had been etched in acid on the inside of his skull, only to the sketch drawn, his imagination added sounds, smells. He groaned.

A cold draft sweep towards him, and he shivered. Opening his eyes, he saw Dumbledore's ghost shimmering before him.

"That was badly done, Mr Weasley."

"You know?"

"Miss Granger is with Minerva. My portrait told me what had transpired. My boy, the Mirror of Erised conjures up the most private parts of your heart, often parts even unknown to you. To combine that with Veritaserum. That betrayal alone—"

"My betrayal? How about hers? She was engaged to me. I knew it; I always knew there was some part of her I could never reach. But Snape? Her deepest desire?"

"Yet she had chosen you, and over time you would have found happiness together. A happiness I know will elude her with Severus. He is not capable of expressing love. Desire is an illusion, often born of what we cannot have. What we want is not always what is best."

"And you know best?" Ron felt his entire body heating with his rage, repelling the cold of the ghost. "I know she came here and talked to you. She said you helped 'clear' things up."

"I sought to give her clarity and peace."

"Did you? Well, clarity she has now."

Ron levered himself up. "I'm not as brilliant as Hermione or as wise as you, but ... You don't know what love is, or Hermione or me or even Snape well if that's your best advice. I do love her, you know. Unlike you I trust her. I trust her to desire what's best for herself. But that's always been something you've found hard to leave alone isn't it?"

Except Ron hadn't trusted Hermione's love enough. But he did love her.

So he'd follow Dumbledore's advice to Hermione.

Pretend she wasn't _his_ deepest desire and hope that would come true.

**The End**


	3. Twice Blessed

Written for the "Lily Challenge" on grangersnape100 LiveJournal community and first posted on February 25, 2009.

**Twice Blessed**

Glimpsing Severus blasting the rose bushes, Hermione groaned. Not a good sign. When she caught up with him, he turned a narrow glare at her.

"You self-righteous little prig—"

She lifted her chin and stared back. "I stand by what I said. If Lily—"

"What do you know of it? Have you ever made one friend outside your House? Did even one Slytherin get asked into your precious DA? Lily stood by me when I was sorted into Slytherin, defended me. Until I—"

"Said _one_ cross word."

"A word you would not have tolerated from a friend."

"A word I would have forgiven from a friend that stood vigil by my door." Risking a touch on his arm, Hermione felt reassured when Severus didn't shake her hand off. "Did Lily ever invite you into her home? Introduce you to her parents?"

Not one such scene had been included in the bundle of memories she'd viewed in the Pensive. From the slight droop of Severus' shoulders, she knew her guess confirmed.

"What little girl would have brought _me_ home?" He shook his head. "Lily's friendship saved me. Without her, believe me, I wouldn't have turned away from Voldemort."

"Bollocks. I saw those memories. 'Only those I couldn't save?' Don't tell me it was all about Lily. You did much more—"

"I didn't say it was all _about_ Lily. But sometimes people come into your life, and the moment they do, you know it's a blessing. Lily made sure I didn't grow a hairy heart young, taught me Gryffindor, Muggle-born doesn't matter. When I almost died, I looked for her in her son and made my peace with him and because _he_ didn't die I was able to make my peace with her too. I'll always love her."

Hermione turned to go, but Severus quickly grabbed her arm. "I'm not choosing her over you. It's no choice. She didn't love me that way. I don't think _I_ would love her that way again given the chance. But I do love her, because without her in my life, I could have never loved you."

There was nothing tentative about the way he pressed his mouth over hers, as if sealing a promise. By the time he was done, Hermione could barely remember Lily existed.

And if she still thought Severus deserved better, well, she'd make sure of that herself.

**The End.**


	4. Twitlight Suite

This started as a double drabble written for grangersnape100 LiveJounal community's "Masquerade Challenge." But Renita Leandra and Silburlygirl goaded me in comments to continue, so below are some sequels spinning off the original. Warning: anyone who takes Twilight seriously? I admit, I'm no fan, so if my mockitude offends-well, can't say I'm sorry.

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**Not Just a Pretty Face**

Scowling, Severus checked the mirror again. The Cullen mask, once donned, created a face somewhere between that poncy Lockhart and poser Black. Well, both had the ladies simpering at them. If he was going to wear a disguise to this ball, he might as well for once wear a face that didn't inspire disdain and disgust. And when they treated him differently, it would just prove how shallow they all were—certainly this was the only way he'd ever get a kiss from Hermione.

He practiced a smile, muscles aching at the movement, amazed it didn't make the mask crack.

#

Hermione's heart skipped a beat as his head lowered towards hers. "Won't you take it off first? I don't want our first kiss to be with that insipid face, Severus."

"How … ?"

"Clever of you to use a charm to alter your voice. But, I've studied you. I recognised you even from the back. Your very stride. The way you're not some clueless pureblood when it comes to Muggle matters. The cadence of your voice. Honestly, you're about as transparent as some internet sock."

"_Finite Incantatem_. You really prefer _this_ face?"

"Infinitely," she said, as she raised her lips to his.

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**Kissing Princes**

Hermione broke her kiss with Severus—she was sure after that kiss that the wall at her back and his arms around her were the only thing keeping her from collapsing into a pile of goo—to see Umbridge sneering at her.

Umbridge gave a little sniff. "You truly must be a very gifted witch. The only person I know who would kiss a prince and instantly turn him into a frog."

Hermione squeezed Severus.' hand. "He's a Prince before and after the kiss."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And from the looks of you, Dolores, you were kissed by too many...toadies."

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**All That Giitters**

Hermione stared, blinking in the sun. "Ron?" Ron looked like someone had encrusted cheap glitter all over him. Like what she'd used with glue and construction paper as a child.

"Well, I heard you were snogging the bloke with the Cullen mask…so"

She heard Severus' voice behind her. "And apparently didn't stay for the sequel. For the record, Mr Weasley, like other women of actual intelligence, Hermione finds men of wit sparkling and dazzling."

Hermione couldn't help herself. She turned her head up to kiss him under the chin. She heard a thud and turned back. "Ron?".

Ron had fainted.

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**A Simple Cure...**

"So you see, Uncle Severus, I can't help it. It's the werewolf blood in me, as soon as I saw your daughter Hypatia-"

"She's an infant!"

"It's a werewolf thing, you wouldn't understand…" Teddy Lupin's eyes widened at the way Snape gripped his wand at that statement. "It's not like I'd ever be unchivalrous."

"So, this imprinting thing is for life and irreversible?"

Teddy nodded.

Snape let his hand slip, dosing the Wolfsbane with lethal amounts of aconite. Giving the brew one last stir, he decanted it.

" It's your nature then. Here you go. This will cure things…."


	5. The Quality of Mercy

This is based on a fic-that-shall-not-be named that repelled me and would be cruel to mention by title. I decided though that my fic can stand enough on its own enough to be worth posting. However, if you ever read the fic this is based on (I can hardly say "inspired"), I think its origins would still be visible, so I mention it has such a basis for what it's worth.

**The Quality of Mercy**

You disgust me.

You've fallen asleep, sated, your mouth open to emit your soft snores that fill the room for me. Your rat's nest of hair brushes against me as you roll over, making me flinch. Sleeping with the enemy, so sure that your enchantments keep me bound, safe.

Utterly stupid of you, the so-called cleverest witch of her age—you who know the Half-blood Prince of the Potions text, the man who was able to cast Avada Kedavra at Dumbledore, who was able to fool the Dark Lord for years. I can play a long game.

I was hasty one time and paid for it. I'll never underestimate you again—your abilities or your viciousness.

Even though the thought makes my skin crawl, I make myself reach out to touch your wiry, bushy hair. I imagine coiling the thick rope of it around your neck and squeezing. But it's not yet time—I have no intention of dying, trapped here, just to secure revenge.

I have no intention of seeking revenge at all. Or at least not of the kind you'd imagine.

I don't understand you.

When I first met you, you reminded me all too much of myself at that age. I tried to beat down that insufferable urge of yours to prove yourself the better of all your peers—and make yourself hated in the process. I watched you grow up. And I never guessed at what was inside. I saw you stand by your friends, and I envied them for the steady presence and forgiveness you always afforded them no matter how they tried you. I secretly admired SPEW. Oh, not your silly Gryffindor means, but your intentions. I thought you a person who couldn't stand to see another in captivity.

How I misjudged you.

I don't have a wand to detect Dark Magic. Part of me wonders if you're under a curse. If you kept that Horcrux locket too long around your neck and some of the Dark Lord's foul soul seeped through your pores, insinuating itself through your bloodstream, deforming you like toxins in the soil twisting the trunk and branches of a tree that would otherwise have grown straight up towards the sun. Or I wonder if you just take long-acting Polyjuice every time you come here, because your game resembles more something Bellatrix Lestrange would play than the Hermione Granger I thought I knew.

But such thoughts are too akin to making excuses for you, evoking my pity, and you don't deserve pity.

I lie down in the dark beside you and breathe in and out in a steady rhythm, relaxing each muscle in my body in turn. I project myself away from my body, using raw magic, taking in again the pattern of your wards that hedge me in. It took me years to accomplish this. It may take years more for me to unravel your pattern. Then years again to slowly reserve enough of a pool of my wandless magic to break out. I'm willing to let it take years.

In comparison to pretending that your very touch doesn't make me want to vomit, this is easy. Did you think me a house-elf, some pet that would do your bidding and knock my head against the wall if I displeased you?

I won't kill you. That would be too easy. It's ironic—the death of Dumbledore, Voldemort, the purging of so many of my memories had finally freed me. Freed me to loose myself from bitterness, from hatred—but the day of my release became the day of my being enslaved again. I refuse to let bitterness coil up in me again. Refuse to let you be the focus of it.

Because when I leave here—I intend to forget you ever even existed.

**The End.**


End file.
